


The DJ Shorts

by scifigrl47



Series: Tales of the Bots [14]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: DJ Stark, Found Family, Gen, Kidfic, M/M, oc child - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-15
Updated: 2016-11-13
Packaged: 2018-06-08 16:00:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6861931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scifigrl47/pseuds/scifigrl47
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Various short stories set in the Botverse</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Milestones

**Author's Note:**

> A bunch of people have asked me to compile some of the short form stories that I've posted on Tumblr that are part of this verse, so I'm going to use this space to post shortish stories, mostly little family oriented pieces. Some will be posted here for the first time, some will be migrating over from other sources.
> 
> Please check the notes at the beginning of each chapter for any particular warnings or notes.

“We had a deal.”

“Okay, nothing good has ever come out of a conversation that starts with those words,” Tony said, squinting down at a minute patch of circuitry. He was going to be blind by the end of this repair. And deaf by the end of this phone call.

“I'm serious.”

“So am I.” Tony reached across the workbench. “How's it going, Pepper? Have a nice weekend? Did you manage to see that new thing that you wanted to see?”

“New thing.”

Tony wheeled a hand through the air. “Thing. You were talking about a thing. When I saw you last week. You were-” His face scrunched up. “You know what I'm talking about.”

“I do, but I'm fairly certain you don't,” Pepper said. “And I like to give you enough rope to hang yourself with.”

“That seems uncalled for,” Tony pointed out.

“Oh, really? Shall we discuss uncalled for? Because, Stark?”

“I sense this is going to be a bad conversation,” Tony said. “I sense that because-”

“Yes, it will, because we had a deal.”

“Because of that,” Tony agreed. 

“Well?”

“Still trying to figure out what you're mad about, because you're not giving me much of a hint here,” Tony pointed out. “And after the line about giving me enough rope to hang myself, I'm not really eager to take a guess, because I see that working out poorly for me, moreso than usual, because you seem to be rather fixated on something, and I'd like to know-”

“You promised me that you would let me handle corporate acquisitions,” Pepper interrupted.

Tony switched gears. “Yes, I did, I did say that, mostly because I hate corporate acquisitions, and so, that was an easy thing to say.” There was a long, fraught silence, and Tony put down the gauntlet piece he'd been working on. “It was nice having this chat about this thing we agree upon, but I'm not sure-”

“You bought a company.”

Tony blinked. “No,” he said, drawing the word out. “I didn't.” He paused. “Why do you-”

“Because I just fielded a call from The Wall Street Journal about our most recent corporate takeover, and it was very hard to have a coherent quote for them because I had no idea what they were talking about and I had to figure things out via context.”

“I bet you did a very good job,” Tony said.

“Damn right I did, but that still doesn't mean that I want to do it, Tony, and you made me do it, so...”

“I didn't buy anything!” Tony spread his hands. “Pep. What is it that I'm meant to have bought?”

“BabbitTech, LLC,” Pepper said, and Tony burst out laughing.

“Oh, fuck no,” he said. “No. I wouldn't even be seen buying a share of that ongoing disaster, let alone be responsible for it, or have to talk to David Babbit on a regular basis, no.”

“Tony-”

“That kid needs to be force marched down to the end of a pier and thrown off of it, I don't care what pier, preferably one where there are sharks circling, do you remember when he tried to reverse engineer the last model of StarkPhone, and I had to deal with that?”

“I had to deal with that,” Pepper said. “I had to deal with that, and I had to deal with you trying to deal with that. I had to deal with both parts, which is why I was not pleased to learn that you'd bought a controlling interest in-”

“Pep. Honestly. Why would I do that?” Tony asked.

“I was rather hoping you could tell me that,” Pepper said. “Because I didn't believe it either, and you certainly didn't tap into StarkIndustries funds to do it, but your personal accounts are a different story.”

Tony froze, his hand hanging in mid-air. “My... Accounts,” he said at last. 

“Yes, Tony. I checked. Definitely your accounts.”

His jaw worked, and he took a deep breath. “Which... Accounts, exactly?”

Pepper was silent for a moment, then slowly rattled off a string of account numbers. Tony's eyes closed. “Right,” he said. “I bought a company. That was...” There was a strange note to his voice, and he ignored it. “That was something I did. I was, I don't know-” He swung himself around on his seat, and he pulled up a computer window. It took him only a matter of seconds to isolate the transactions, and he gritted his teeth to keep from swearing. “Musta been drunk or something, sorry, Pepper, I'll make this up to you.”

There was a long pause. “What aren't you telling me?” Pepper asked at last.

“Pep? Know what you hate more than me breaking our deals?”

“A lot of things, but-”

“You hate lying to Captain America.”

“Oh, god,” Pepper burst out. “Yes. That is true. I hate that. Everyone hates that.”

“That's true, so what we're doing here is I'm making sure that you don't have to lie to Captain America,” Tony said, pressing both hands to his face.

“Tony...”

“I bought a company, and now we're going to have to beat some sense into a twit of an electrical engineer, and I'm going to go find out WHY I did this so that you have something to tell the press.” He stalked towards the door, his shoulders hunched forward.

There was a beat of silence. “Well, let me know when you figure out what you were thinking,” Pepper said.

“As soon as I find out, you'll be the first to know.”

*

“You want some, uh, what are these, exactly?” Bruce asked.

“Veggie chips,” Clint said, twisting the pit out of a ripe avocado. There was a heavy silence from the other side of the butcher block counter, and Clint glanced up. Bruce was staring at him, the bag of chips hanging from one hand. Clint shrugged. “Hey, I didn't buy them.”

“I think that 'veggie' should be in quotes here,” Bruce said. A tiny hand came fumbling over the edge of the counter, patting its way along the edge. Bruce caught it and pulled it back. “Not when there are knives,” he said, his voice gentle. 

“Hey, I'll make sure he keeps all of his fingers,” Clint said. He glanced back over his shoulder. “Hey, Thor! We got any sub rolls?”

“Aye!” Thor called back from the pantry. 

“Awesome, can you bring them?” There was a tug on his shirt, and Clint looked down.

“Cheese. Grilled,” DJ said, with all the seriousness such a proclamation warranted.

“You're getting grilled cheese,” Clint agreed. “I don't have to eat that.”

“Yes.” 

“No,” Clint said, grinning.

DJ nodded. “Yes.”

“Right, here, have some avocado,” Clint said, handing over a slice, because he wasn't above using cheap distractions. Mostly because they worked. DJ turned his attention to chewing, and Clint went back to sandwich making. “Put some veggie chips in a bowl, doc, and stop reading the ingredients.”

“I think they waved a box of frozen spinach over the frialator and called it health food,” Bruce said, scowling at the chip bag. Clint took them away from him. “Those, those do not count as a vegetable.”

“Okay, go get some carrots from the fridge, we'll balance things out,” Clint said.

“No carrot,” DJ said, licking avocado from his fingers. 

“Yes, carrot,” Clint told him.

“How about broccoli?” Bruce asked, leaning into the fridge. He straightened up, wiggling a bunch of broccoli at DJ. “I'll cut you some tiny trees.”

“Trees,” DJ agreed. He reached for another piece of avocado, and Clint handed it over.

“Can you grab me another tomato?” he asked, as Thor dropped the bag of sub rolls on the counter next to him. “You want avocado on yours, Thor?”

DJ tugged on Thor's shirt. Thor looked down, his eyebrows arched in question. DJ nodded with a very serious look on his face. “Apparently, I do,” Thor said, ruffling DJ's hair. “But I will make it. You have work enough to do.”

“True.” Clint crossed to the stove to check on DJ's sandwich. The bread was crisping up nicely, and he flipped it with a flick of his spatula. The cheese was melting over the crusts, bubbling on the hot surface of the frying pan. “Almost done. Go sit down, Deej.”

“Want some milk?” Bruce asked him, and DJ nodded. “Okay, get some napkins from the drawer for everyone, and I'll get you a glass of milk.”

By the time Clint slid the grilled cheese onto a plate and snagged his own sandwich from the cutting board, DJ was sitting at the table, both hands wrapped around a cup of milk. “Here we go,” Clint said, setting DJ's sandwich in front of him before sitting down.

DJ looked up at Clint, his face expectant. Clint stared back. “Sandwich,” he said, reaching out to push the plate a little closer to DJ. DJ looked at it, then back up. Clint leaned both hands on the table, huffing out a breath. “Okay, what'd I miss?” DJ blinked up at him. Clint sighed. “Grilled cheese, with tomato, on honey oatmeal bread, with a little bit of mustard on the bread.” Clint's eyebrows arched. “Right? What am I missing?”

“You forgot to cut the crusts off,” Bruce said, taking a seat next to DJ with his own sandwich.

“Wait, we're not doing crusts? Since when do we not do crusts?” Clint asked Bruce, who shrugged. He turned back to DJ. “You did crusts last week, when did the crust thing start?”

DJ pushed the plate back towards him. “Crusts,” he said. “Please.”

“I expect a chart, you know that?” Clint asked, taking the sandwich back and walking back to the cutting board. “When your dietary restrictions change, I need that in writing, because I think you're making this stuff up.”

“It seems a small enough change,” Thor said, piling thin slices of turkey onto his roll. He eyed the plate of bacon, and Clint pushed it over. Thor grinned, helping himself. “Many thanks, my friend.”

“Yeah, they're all little changes, they just add up fast.” Clint sliced the crusts off of the sandwich and slid the knife under it, scooping it back onto the plate. A moment later, he deposited the plate back in front of DJ. “Here. DJ special, version sixteen.” 

DJ looked down at it, then up at Clint, and then he slid out of his chair. He padded across the room to the counter, catching the hem of Thor's shirt in one hand. Without looking down, Thor ruffled his hair with one hand and handed over the small pile of crusts with the other. 

DJ retraced his steps to his seat, setting the crusts on the edge of his plate and then boosting himself back into his chair. “Thank,” DJ said, grinning up at Clint. Then he popped a crust in his mouth.

Clint leaned his chin on one hand. “Okay, then,” he said, because if there was an explanation for this, he didn't really think he was up for hearing it. Instead, he reached for his own sandwich.

Thor dropped down next to him, a plate with a truly monstrous sandwich on it in one hand, and a plastic bin of cookies in the other. “For after lunch,” he said, when Bruce gave him a chiding look. He gave a shrug, a broad smile creasing his face. “Or, perhaps before.”

“Before,” DJ said, snagging a trailing edge of tomato and prying it loose from the grilled cheese sandwich. He ate it, and rotated the sandwich, looking for another.

“Not before,” Clint said. He grabbed the bottle of mayo and a knife. “Know what your dad would say to that? If he was here?”

“Guess what day it is!” Tony said from the kitchen doorway.

Clint twisted around in his chair. “Guess that's what he'd say. Wait, what-”

DJ picked another fragment of tomato out of his sandwich. “Tuesday,” he said, with the confidence of someone who was absolutely certain of what day it was.

“Wrong!” Tony said, with a sharp smile. 

“No, he is correct,” Thor said, with no small amount of disapproval. He pushed the bin of cookies towards DJ. “It was a good answer. Reward yourself with a cookie.”

DJ reached for the cookies, and Clint took them away. “Sandwich first,” he said. “And, wait.” He pointed the mayo knife at Tony. “You're home? If you're home, why am I making lunch?”

Tony took a cookie, brushing the knife aside. “Because you're better at it than I am, and everyone knows it?”

“That's kind of true,” Bruce said. Clint turned a glare in his direction, and Bruce shrugged, taking a massive bite of his sandwich. “Well, it is,” he mumbled, his mouth full.

“ANYWAY,” Tony said, waving his cookie through the air, “guess what day it is?” DJ, watching his cookie, opened his mouth. “Other than being Tuesday.”

DJ subsided with a sigh, and reached for another sandwich crust.

“It's 'DJ's First Hostile Takeover Day!'” Tony said, throwing his hands up. DJ threw his up, too. “Right? Yay! We bought a company! And by 'we,' I mean, you! You bought a company!”

DJ considered that, his hands still above his head. “Yay!” he said.

“Not yay,” Tony told him.

“Yay,” DJ repeated, almost sternly, and went back to picking the tomatoes out of his sandwich. “Definite yay.”

“Definite not yay, why did you buy a company?” Tony asked. “Why- Why would you do that?”

“A company?” Clint set the cookies on the far side of the table, well out of DJ's reach. “What kind of- You mean, a real company? A company company? With, like, people?”

Tony gave him a look. “With, like, people, and a building, and tax filings and all sorts of shit that I do not want to deal with and now I have to, because he bought the damn company.”

“Wait, how did he do that?” Bruce asked. “Tony, he's-” He pressed a hand to his forehead. “Tony.”

“Yeah, stop saying my name, it's, it's not helping,” Tony said. “Deej-”

“What kind of company?” Thor asked DJ.

“Fiber optics,” DJ said, the words very carefully rehearsed.

Thor nodded. “Well chosen.” He handed DJ the cookies again.

“Can you not?” Tony asked. “You.” He pointed at DJ. “No cookies. You-” To Clint. “Put down the knife, you're freaking me out. You-” Bruce stared at him. “Can I have your pickle?” he asked at last.

Bruce leaned forward. “Explain how your five year old child bought a company and I'll give you the entire jar,” he said.

“He has an allowance,” Tony said, dropping into an empty chair and reaching for Bruce's plate. With a faint sigh, Bruce held it out.

“Can I have an allowance?” Clint asked, setting the knife back in the bottle. “Seriously. I'd like to have an allowance that allows me to buy a company, how much money does he have?” Tony took a sad, somehow resigned bite of pickle, and Clint turned to DJ. “Can I borrow some money?”

DJ stared up at him. “Yes,” he said.

“No,” Tony said. “And yes, I had to look that up myself. It would appear that he's been, uh, playing the stock market.”

There was a long silence. “What?” Bruce asked at last.

“Mostly options, actually,” Jarvis said. “He's quite good.”

“What?” Bruce repeated.

“He's good with numbers, and when he's in bot form, he's pretty much a super computer, so his reaction time and his model prediction capability is really-”

“Tony,” Bruce said.

Tony opened his mouth. Closed it. “I may need to tighten up his online access.”

“Jesus Christ, Tony,” Clint said, letting his head fall forward. “I mean-” He stopped, shoving a hand through his hair. “Jesus CHRIST.”

“Look, can we not discuss this now? I don't-” He held up his hands. “I do not want to have this conversation twice and there's no way I'm getting out of it with Steve, so let's just accept that he managed to leverage his rather large allowance into a much larger amount of money and then he used that to buy a controlling interest in a company that I do not want to own, but now, at least on paper, I do, because he used my personal accounts to do this, because of course he did, it's not like he could have his own accounts, and-” He took a deep breath. “Deej. Kid. You're killing me here.”

DJ looked up at him, his teeth digging into his lower lip. He held out his plate. “Sandwich?” he asked.

Tony stared at it. “What happened to the crusts?” 

“Ate them,” DJ said. He wiggled the plate, his eyes wide. “Yes?”

“Yes.” Tony took half of the sandwich. “Deej. Seriously. Why?”

DJ blinked slowly. “Had something. I needed,” he said at last. He nodded, his chin dipping down. “Need it. So. Bought it.”

“Yes, but you bought the company. Not, say, the products,” Tony pointed out. “Which would've been so much better. So much simpler. You could've done that. But you didn't, you-” He let out a sigh and slumped forward, cradling his head in his hands. “And their product line is shit, Deej, you bought them, and it's unworkable, Babbit's got his head up his ass, and his product line is-” He stopped, a sustained groan shaking his shoulders. “And now I own that junk product line.”

DJ picked up a fragment of tomato and tucked it into his mouth. “Fix it.”

Tony looked up. “Fix what?”

DJ shook his head, his nose scrunching up. “No.” He took a deep breath. “I. I can fix it.”

“Fix what, fix-” Tony stopped, his eyes narrowing. Slowly, he sat up, his hands bracing on the table. “You. Can fix it.”

DJ nodded. “Fix it,” he said, and wiggled his hand at the cookies. Thor looked at Tony, one eyebrow arched.

“Yeah,” Tony said. “That, that might deserve a cookie.” He pointed at the half of the sandwich that was still on DJ's plate. “Eat your lunch, then let's go have a discussion.”

“Taking the cookies,” DJ said.

“Agreed.”

Clint looked at Bruce, who was rubbing his temples like he was dealing with a rather extreme headache. “I don't own any companies,” he said.

“I don't even own a CAR,” Bruce said.

“Be nice and maybe DJ will buy you one,” Clint said.

“Don't give him ideas,” Bruce said.

Thor leaned forward, his sandwich cradled between his hands. “The good Captain will be back in a matter of hours,” he said. “May I suggest we not be in residence when this happens?”

Clint nodded. “Take out at Phil's office at SHIELD?”

“That seems like a good plan,” Bruce said, and took a bite of his sandwich. “That seems like a very good plan.”

DJ nodded. “Have a cookie.”


	2. Chapter 2

“You’re late.”

“I noticed.” Steve was still in uniform, battered and covered in a grime that Tony was probably better off not looking too closely at. But he was alive, and safe, and home, and Tony could breathe again. “Sorry,” Steve started, his face tight. "More explosions than we'd expected."

“Aren't there always? Don't apologize. Nat?”

“In medical, mostly for observation,” Steve said, as Tony jerked his suit jacket on. “She’s fine.”

Tony gave him a sharp look. “I saw the footage-”

“And she is fine,” Steve interrupted.

“You’re certain?” He tossed back half a cup of coffee in one long swallow.

“I’m certain,” Steve said, and he pulled the cup away, far enough to kiss Tony. For a second, Tony sank into it, exhaustion and stress and fear melting away. Far too quickly, he was pulling away.

“Hold that thought, I’m late,” Tony said.

“I’m late, you’re fine,” Steve said. “And how long am I holding it, because I’d like a hug, Stark.”

“I am late,” Tony repeated. DJ bounced into the kitchen, a smoothie cup clutched between his hands. Tony took it from him. “Thank you, botboy.” To Steve, he said, “I do not have time for hugs, I am late, but luckily, I have a hug surrogate, here, hug this, it needs hugs for some reason today.” He pointed DJ towards Steve. “Very needy. Both of you. Intolerably needy.”

Steve was grinning as he scooped DJ up. DJ squealed with pleasure, wrapping his arms around Steve’s neck. “Different kind of hugging,” he said. But he buried his face in DJ’s hair, some of the strain and tension going out of his body.

“All you’re getting, because you were supposed to be home last night, and I am supposed to be at a meeting in thirty minutes and Pepper is going to have my head,” Tony said. “I’m just waiting for Happy to bring the car around because I’ve been forbidden to drive, and that is bullshit, I don’t know why I can’t drive, I show up eventually and I haven’t gotten a ticket in like-”

“What is in your hair?” Steve asked DJ, who gave him an innocent look, his big brown eyes wide. “Tony, what is-”

“Mashed potatoes,” Tony said. Without thinking, he took a sip from the smoothie cup, and promptly regretted it. Coughing, he held it up, peering into the depths. “What’s in this smoothie?”

“He had mashed potatoes for breakfast?” Steve asked, setting DJ down on the counter, reaching for a paper towel. “No! Hey! Hold still, Deej, really, how do you do this?”

“He had mashed potatoes for dinner last night,” Tony said. He stuck a finger in the smoothie. “This tastes like pulverized corn.” The sludge had a distinctly yellow tinge. “It LOOKS like pulverized corn.”

“He slept with potatoes in his hair?” Steve asked, wetting the paper towel and snagging DJ around the waist as DJ tried to slip down off the counter. He gave Tony a look, which was made worse by the fact that he was still in full Captain America mode. “Really, Tony?”

“No, he hid potatoes somewhere in the tower, I cannot find them for the life of me, but he wandered around this morning with a spoon and potatoes and I do not know where he’s got them hidden.” He held out the cup towards DJ. “What is this?” DJ grinned at him. Tony looked up. “Jay?”

“A corn muffin,” Jarvis said promptly.

“A corn muffin should not be LIQUID,” Tony said.

“With a good enough blender and enough stubborn pressing of buttons, anything can be liquid, whether or not it should be,” Jarvis pointed out.

“You put a corn muffin in the blender?” Tony asked DJ. “That is disgusting.” He paused, then took another careful sip. “Yes, on further consideration, absolutely disgusting.” Shrugging, he took another drink of it. It was like a liquid hush puppy drowned in syrup. “Yeah, this is horrible.”

“Why are you still drinking it?” Steve asked, scrubbing at DJ’s hair, ignoring the way that DJ flailed his hands in the air, trying to ward him off. "Buddy, you cannot go through life covered in potato. It's not right." Tony took another sip and started coughing. Steve gave him a look. "Stop drinking it."

“It beats chewing,” Tony said. “I’m late. No time for chewing.”

“Not late,” DJ said, fending off Steve and his damp paper towel with one hand and a foot. He flopped back on the counter.

“I’m late,” Tony told him. “Steve was late getting home, and you were late getting up and I am going to be late to a meeting that’s going to make or break our next six quarters.”

“Not late,” DJ repeated. He giggled as Steve wiped his face.

“He’s good with schedules,” Steve pointed out. “Better than either of us.”

“What is your excuse?” Tony asked him, a faint smile curving his mouth. “Childcare’s hard to organize, and you were supposed to be home yesterday.”

“I agreed to the schedule, turns out the collapsing building we were in had its own schedule and didn’t much care about ours,” Steve said, tossing the paper towel into the sink.

“That was damn rude of it.” Tony took another drink of the smoothie and shuddered. “Meeting’s at nine, I’ll be home by eleven, when’s the debrief?”

“Twelve, and you won’t be home by eleven,” Steve said. He scooped DJ up and swung him around. DJ giggled and kicked his legs until Steve set him back down. “It’ll be one, if it’s anything.”

“Eleven-thirty, at the outside,” Tony said. “I’ll be home in time for you to get out of here.”

“I’ll have Coulson move it to two,” Steve said. “Or we can see if Thor will sit with him today.”

“No,” Tony said, stabbing a finger in his direction. “Absolutely not.”

“Clint’s with Nat, and Phil’s at the office dealing with the blowback,” Steve said, as DJ balanced his bare feet on top of Steve’s boot covered toes. DJ’s hands caught in Steve’s, they shuffled together, a little half waltz. Steve was grinning down at him, but there was exhaustion on his face, and Tony hated this.

“Bruce is at the Baxter building,” Tony said. “I’ll cancel-”

“Don’t you dare, DJ and I will be fine, right, Deej?” Steve asked. DJ grinned up at him, adoration on his face. “And Thor can watch him this afternoon.”

“Last time Thor watched him, I came home to find goats in my workshop.”

“Not the worst thing,” Steve said, grinning. He leaned over and kissed DJ’s forehead.

“GOATS, Rogers,” Tony said. “Jarvis, where is my damn car?”

“Your meeting is not for another hour, sir,” Jarvis said.

“No, my meeting is in like twenty minutes, Jay, so where-” He bit off a curse, and yanked his phone from his pocket. “Pepper, I’m going to be late,” he said, almost before she could finish saying hello. “It’s Steve’s fault, and also, where is Happy? What are we paying him for? Are we paying him? Has he decided to take a sick day? He’s not allowed sick days, I hope he knows that-”

“Tony-”

“I could drive myself if he’s sick, you know that I can, at this point, we have a better chance of me getting there if I leave now than if I wait for a babysitter, actually, I could just take the suit, that’ll put us in a favorable bargaining position, I think, and you have to-”

“Tony!”

“Also, this contract is a joke, I hope you know this, I hope you don’t plan on signing this, it is absolutely-”

“TONY!”

He stopped. “Pepper?”

“Meeting is not for another hour,” she said. “Happy will be there in thirty minutes. You attempt to drive and he’s under orders to tase you.”

Tony paused. “That seems unnecessarily harsh,” he said at last.

“Oh, Tony. It’s not unnecessary. Not at all.” Pepper let out a faint sigh. “Half an hour.”

“Half an hour,” Tony said. He scraped a hand over his face. “I could’ve sworn-”

“I might have told you nine,” Pepper said. She sounded less ashamed than he would’ve liked.

“Why would you do that?” he asked, his voice flat.

“Because if I told you ten you wouldn’t have been ready until ten thirty.”

“I would take exception to that,” Tony said. “Except I’m drinking a liquified muffin, my kid’s got starch stashes somewhere, my significant other thinks a building falling on him is a decent excuse for being like twelve hours late, and since my CEO lied to me about my schedule, we’re going to be forced to leave our offspring with an immortal goatherd.”

“We don’t know if the goatherd will do it, actually,” Steve said. “I’ll call SHIELD, see if we can get a sitter.”

DJ leaned against his leg. “DJ until eleven,” he said, calmly. “Dummy after.” He grinned up at Steve, and then Tony. “Fixed!”

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, or be anything you don’t want to be,” Steve told him.

“But if you WANT to do that, man, it would make things a lot easier,” Tony said. Steve gave him a look, and Tony shrugged. “What? It would.”

“Drink your muffin, Stark,” Steve said.

“How is this my life?” Tony asked Pepper.

There was a beat of a pause. “You got lucky,” she said, and there was so much affection in her voice that he stopped, stunned by it. “Didn’t you?”

Tony nodded. “Maybe,” he admitted. To Steve, he said, “You, shower, I’ll watch the kid, we’ll pulverize you a muffin, and call the goatherd.”

Steve leaned in, his lips brushing against Tony’s. “See if he can sit tonight. I’ve got plans.” Scooping DJ up in the crook of one elbow, he headed for the kitchen door. “Let’s see if these work out a bit better.”

Tony nodded. “If he can’t, I’ll fake a national emergency and call Rhodey in, he needs a chance to bond with his nephew, he doesn't know that, but it's the truth,” he yelled after Steve. “Pep, I’ll see you in half an hour.”

“I cannot wait.”


	3. Adventures in Botsitting

“Oh my GOD!”

“Hey, welcome home. How was Russia?”

“Tony, oh my GOD!”

Tony glanced up. “What? What’s wrong?” He pulled off his welding shield, tossing it to the work bench as he scrambled off his stool. “Are you okay, what happened?”

Steve spared him a single, rather disbelieving look. “Tony, why is my child on the CEILING?”

Tony slumped back against the bench. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, don’t- Wait, your child? YOUR child? When did he become YOUR child?”

“Around the time when you allowed him to stick himself to the CEILING.” Steve hopped up onto the work bench, smooth and efficient in his movements, even in a wrinkled suit. “That’s about the time when I realized that you could no longer be trusted with MY CHILD.” He held up his hands. “C'mon, DJ, let’s stop breaking the laws of physics now, okay, baby?”

DJ, sensing that his fun was about to come to an abrupt end, skittered out of reach. The clunky boots that were stuck firm to his legs made happy metallic clanging noises as he shifted his weight and rocked himself out of reach. Reading Steve’s face correctly, the little brat giggled.

“He’s fine,” Tony said. Steve gave him a look, a ‘what are you basing this on?’ look, and picked his way across the crowded surface of the workbench. “No, seriously. I made them, they’re fine. Magnetic boots. Jarvis has got it.”

“I do, in fact, 'got it,’” Jarvis said, his tone droll. “Do not be concerned, I am monitoring his vital signs and can confirm that he is suffering no adverse affects from his small adventure. He has not been upside down long enough to even become light headed.”

“No insult, Jarvis, but even with your supervision, I’m not comfortable with DJ being ON THE CEILING.”

“It’s fine,” Tony said, “I’m keeping an eye on him.”

“You’re keeping an eye on him?” Steve asked, and there was a certain tone in his voice, his best or worst 'we are going to discuss this later and you’re not going to enjoy that and no, you may not bring alcohol to this discussion’ tone. “That would be more reassuring, Tony, if you hadn’t been the one to give him the boots to begin with.”

DJ held up one foot, wiggling it in midair. He pointed at it, his wide grin adorable. When Steve didn’t give him the reaction he was expecting, he wiggled it in Steve’s general direction.

“It’s not the hokey pokey, DJ, both feet on the ceiling,” Tony told him. DJ tipped his head back, his mouth falling open as he struggled to lean far back enough to look at Tony. Tony arched his eyebrows at his son. “Feet. On the ceiling. Safety first.”

Steve muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “Safety first, my red white and blue bottom,” but maybe Tony was just imagining things. He watched, amused, as Steve hopped to another workbench, amazingly light on his feet for his size. DJ, much smaller and much lighter, despite the impediment of the magnetic fields on his boots, kept just out of reach, giggling like a loon.

“He’ll get bored if you stop chasing him,” Tony pointed out, going back to his project. He hooked a leg over the top of the stool, boosting himself up. He picked up the armor’s faceplate and moved it out of the way as Steve’s foot landed in the middle of his work area. It was gone in an instant and Tony put the broken component back down. “He just wants attention.”

“I just want him to not break his neck,” Steve said. “Really. Really, is this what you do when I’m out of town? I was gone for a week, and you decide that letting him run around on the ceiling is a good idea?”

“Technically, we decided that about six hours after you left. It just took me a week to get the prototypes to work.”

“Please stop giving him prototypes,” Steve said, and something crashed to the ground. Tony didn’t look up; it wasn’t Steve or DJ and anything else could be fixed or replaced and he was working on the relay system. He needed to concentrate. 

“If I don’t give him prototypes,” Tony mumbled, peering at the connections, “he builds his own. And mine are safer. Mostly.”

“Mostly?”

Tony shrugged. “He’s good with redundancy systems.” DJ clunked by over head, and Tony moved his work before Steve reached his work station. “We’ve all got our talents.”

Steve spared him a glance. “For God’s sake, Tony.”

“You were away!” Tony waved a mini-welder in mid-air. “We have to amuse ourselves somehow.”

“When you go on a business trip, the two of us color and go swimming in the pool,” Steve pointed out. Sometimes, we order pizza and watch Star Wars.“

"I’ve told you, I don’t think we should show him Star Wars,” Tony said, and even though Steve wasn’t facing him, he knew Steve was rolling his eyes. “Seriously, Cap, no. Those movies are anti-bot, and I don’t think we should be exposing him to them.”

“Yes, well, he thinks differently and he likes them. DJ! No, no, no, no!”

“Don’t kick the lights, Deej,” Tony said without looking up. “Electricity’s bad when you’re like this.”

“The point is,” Steve said, “I don’t let him run around on the ceilings.”

“Now he has magnetic boots, so that’s an option that’s open to you,” Tony said. “It wasn’t before. But now it is. You’re welcome.”

“Anthony Edward Stark, you have ten seconds to get my son off of the ceiling before I am going to do something rash,” Steve said, and there was panic bleeding into the words, just a tiny bit, but there was fear in his voice, and Tony leaned back.

“Hands up,” he said, and Steve did as he was told. “Jarvis, cut the power.”

With a happy shriek, DJ tumbled into Steve’s waiting arms. Laughing, kicking, he wrapped his arms around Steve’s neck and snuggled down. Steve released a shuddering breath and buried his face in DJ’s hair, his arms wrapped tight around the little boy. 

Tony waited for a moment, his arms crossed over his chest. “YOUR son?” he asked, grinning.

Steve stepped down to the stool, and hopped to the floor. “No jury or child welfare worker would contradict me,” he said, making Tony laugh. Tony leaned in for a kiss, and Steve leaned away from him. “Get away from me, no, do you really think I’m going to kiss you right now, you let him break the laws of physics. We have house rules against that.”

“Not until you’re eighteen,” Tony chorused along with Steve. DJ lifted his head and blew a loud raspberry. “Yeah, I agree, kid. He just doesn’t understand.”

“I was gone for a week,” Steve said, and he leaned over DJ’s head to kiss Tony, the contact soft and sweet. “A week, Stark.”

“We got bored. Bored and lonely.”

As if on cue, because it was, DJ looked up, his eyes huge and liquid. His lower lip trembled, and he gripped Steve’s shirt with one fisted hand. Steve stared down at him. “Do not teach him this,” he said, and DJ giggled.

“Comes naturally,” Tony said.

Steve brushed a gentle kiss across DJ's forehead. “You two will be the death of me.”

“Our kid?”

“No,” Steve said, shifting DJ out of reach. “No. You stay over there. No. We are, no-” Laughing, he kissed Tony until DJ wiggled to get down. “Our kid,” he admitted, setting DJ down on the stool. “Get the death traps off of his legs, please.”

“Listen, he wanted to make the rocket boots, we didn’t do that, and I think I deserve some credit for that,” Tony pointed out.

“Really. You think you deserve credit for that.”

“Also not letting him test Clint’s experimental arrows. Or eat a can of Play-Doh. Or play with anything in Bruce’s lab.”

“An exceptional week of parenting, Tony.”

“I kind of think it was.” DJ stuck his tongue out at him, and Tony gave him a look. “Watch it, kid. If he decides I’m not trustworthy, you’re going to end up living with Coulson, and Coulson won’t let you play with anything more interesting than the stapler.”

“At this point, I’m going to start taking him on top secret missions with me,” Steve said, leaning back against the bench. “In that it’d be safer.”

“I’ll make him a suit.”

“Do not even joke.”

“Yeah. Joke.”

Steve stared at him for a beat. “If I find child sized armor in here,” he said, absolutely the voice of doom and destruction.

“You won’t, Steve." Tony paused for just a second. "We’re really good at hiding things.”

“Let’s get you packed up, DJ,” Steve said, standing. He ignored Tony’s laughter. “You’ll like Brooklyn, we’ll find a nice apartment and nothing will explode.”

“That’ll last a week. Then he’ll find the stove,” Tony pointed out. Steve gave him a look. “You love us,” he said, wrinkling his nose. “Sorry.”

“You’re not sorry.”

“You’re not mad,” Tony pointed out.

“I have no idea why, but you’re correct.” Steve snagged him by the front of the shirt and dragged him in for a kiss. When they broke apart, Steve said, “Not until he’s eighteen.”

“Technically, if you factor in the year when I built him, he’s a lot older than-”

“No, Tony.”


	4. Second Shift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Started on Tumblr some time ago, and finished here. Sometimes, the best choice is the only choice.
> 
> Clint is super okay with being the 'best choice because he's the only choice.'

“Who's taking DJ?”

Clint looked up from disassembling his bow. “Welcome back, Banner,” he said, running quick, practiced fingers over each piece, one after another. The quinjet hit a patch of turbulence, and he braced one foot against the weapon case to keep it from sliding. “How are you feeling?”

Bruce took a breath, and another, his fingers locked on the blanket that was wrapped around his shoulders. His skin was shallow, his eyes shadowed, but he managed a faint, unsteady smile. “I'm fine,” he said, and then, again, “Who's taking DJ?”

Clint looked at him. “Why is anyone taking DJ?

Natasha, who was propped up in her seat by the seatbelts and sheer force of will, shifted forward. There was soot on her neck, on her face, bruises already staining the pale skin there. She didn't open her eyes, but she answered. “I can do it.”

“No, you can't, his goddamn parents can take DJ,” Clint said, slamming his weapon case shut and locking it with a flick of his thumbs. He ran a hand through his hair, and made a face when he found something tacky and warm there. Probably blood. It was usually blood. “You look like shit.”

“You look like you were hit by a truck,” Bruce said to Clint.

“He was,” Nat said, her lips twitching up.

“I wasn't 'hit,' it was barely a graze,” Clint said. “And will you stop telling people about it?”

“No,” she said. Her head tipped forward, and one eye opened, considering him. “You do look like you were hit by a truck.”

“I look fine,” Clint said, spreading his hands. That was a mistake, since yes, that was clearly blood on his hand. He scrubbed his palm against his leg. “I could get a date. Right now. I could get a date with anyone on this jet.”

“Clint, right now, you couldn't even get a pity fuck out of anyone on this jet,” Natasha said, utterly straightfaced, and Bruce choked on a laugh. Clint glared at her, and Natasha's lips curled up, just the tiniest bit. Just enough to fracture the still, horrible mask of her face, and he was fine with that. 

Clint looked at Bruce. “Doc, you'd pity fuck me, right?” he asked, just to make Bruce laugh again, just to make him flush the way he always did when they teased him, the red washing away the last traces of green from his skin.

“No,” Bruce said, rocking his head from side to side, but he softened it with a faint smile.

“Harsh,” Clint told him, even as he reached for a bottle of water. He cracked the top off with a twist of his wrist and handed it over. Bruce took it with hands that weren't steady, and he cradled it between his hands to bring it to his mouth.

“The other guy did take out the truck,” Nat pointed out. Bruce held the bottle out to her, and she took it a swallow from it, her head tipping back like she was taking a shot of alcohol instead of water. “So he still likes you.” She passed it back to Clint.

He took it, and drained it in one long swallow. “Fantastic. At least someone cares.”

“We love you, Clint,” Bruce said, hitching the blanket further up around his shoulders. He huddled into the fabric, his eyes half closed. “Who's taking DJ?”

Clint groaned. “Why-”

“Because Steve and Tony are going to be at each other's throats the moment we get home,” Bruce said, and Natasha and Clint stilled. As one, all three of them turned to look at the cockpit, where Steve was silently piloting them home, alone except for Jarvis' able assistance. 

Clint leaned back, stretching his legs out in front of him, trying not to think about it. It wasn't easy. Clint glanced at Nat. “Are mom and dad fighting?” Clint asked, trying for levity and missing by about a mile and a half. “I hadn't noticed.”

“The fight started about an hour after the mission did,” Natasha said. 

“Right. So, maybe they're done now,” he said. Natasha gave him a pitying look. “Listen, that was... That was ugly, even for them. And Tony's flying himself home, maybe-”

“No,” Natasha said.

“They're ADULTS, maybe-”

“No.”

“I think she's right.” Bruce's fingers worked along the hem of the blanket, back and forth, up and down, picking at the tiny threads there. “Uh, they're fighting now, but...” He shook his head. “The moment they got on the ground, it's going to get...

His voice trailed away, and Natasha's eyes flicked towards the cockpit. She tipped her head back against the bulkhead. “I can take DJ.”

“No, you can't,” Clint sing-songed. “You're barely able to stand, Bruce needs a nap and a chocolate bar the size of his forearm, and Phil's still back there doing clean-up with Thor, so-” He stopped, realizing what he'd done just a little too late. “Fuck.”

“Yeah,” Bruce said with a faint, sympathetic sort of smile. “Looks like you've got sitting duties tonight. Uh, I'd say I was sorry, but...”

“But we're not,” Nat said.

“She's not,” Bruce said. 

“Neither is he,” Nat said, and Bruce rubbed a hand over his mouth, trying to hide a smile.

“I hate you both,” Clint said. He ran his hand through his hair and hit the same sticky patch, and swallowed a curse as a spike of pain rolled through him. “They're not going to fight in front of him.”

He watched, annoyed, as Nat and Bruce exchanged a look. “That's my thing,” he told Bruce. “The speaking glances with the Romanov thing, that's my thing, stop trying to be me.”

“I can't pull off your wardrobe,” Bruce said, and Clint kicked in his general direction. Bruce scooted his legs out of reach. “What's worse?” he asked, his eyebrows arching. “Them not fighting in front of DJ-”

“Especially since DJ is a very smart, very manipulative child who will figure out that as long as he glues himself to one or the other of them, they will not fight, and that means, this drags on,” Natasha said. “For days.” She paused. “Or weeks.” Her lips pursed. “Or longer.”

“Fuck me,” Clint said.

“We've already said we're not going to do that,” Nat said.

“Sex with Clint aside,” Bruce said, trying to hide a smile.

“Let's put that far, far aside,” Natasha said.

“Hate you both,” Clint said, but there was no heat to it.

“The only other option is that they DO fight in front of DJ.” Bruce paused. “I think we all know how that would go.”

“Trying to be quiet, trying to control themselves, trying to be adults,” Nat said. “And not saying what needs to be said, and then we're back to the first option, and I don't think you want to go with that one.”

“I don't want ANY of this,” Clint said. He shifted his weight, trying to find a comfortable position, and ignoring how everything ached. “Just to clarify. I want a shower, a massive amount of food, half a bottle of trashy booze, and a very big, very soft bed. Preferably with Phil there to pat my head and make sympathetic noises.”

“Please, no one wants to hear about your kinky sex life,” Natasha told him.

“Well, fuck you, you're going to,” he said.

“I told you,” Nat said, her eyes closed again, one hand curled into a fist against the hollow of her stomach. “I'll take him.”

Without missing a beat, Clint pulled an arrowhead out of his vest pocket and flicked it at her. Her hand snapped up, snagging it in midair, her eyes still closed. One eye opened. “I'm fine,” she said. But her hand was shaking as she tossed the arrowhead back.

Clint caught it. Took a deep breath before bowing to the inevitable. “I'll take him,” he said. “And for the record, I hate you both.”

“You've mentioned that, and, as it turns out, I'm fine with that,” Nat said, her eyes closing. “Bruce?” Bruce gave a thumbs up, his head lolling back against the seat.

“You both suck,” Clint said.

“We do,” Bruce agreed. He hitched the blanket up around his head. “We absolutely do.”

*

Tony beat them back to the landing pad, and when the Quinjet landed, he was waiting, DJ propped on his hip. DJ had clung to him until everyone had disembarked, and then he had busied himself running back and forth, peering up at each one of them in turn, accepting hugs and kisses from everyone.

Clint heaved the last of the weapons cases off the Quinjet, catching Bruce's elbow as he straightened up. “Hey,” he said, his voice pitched low. “Can you keep an eye on Nat? I know you're pretty rough, but she's-”

Bruce was already nodding. “I need a shower,” he said with a wry smile. “Then I'll see if she'll accept a cup of tea and a game of chess.”

“Tell her you're feeling rough,” Clint said. “She'll accept if she thinks it's for your benefit, not hers.”

Bruce's eyebrows arched. “Is, uh, is that what you do?”

“Allllll the time,” Clint said. He managed a smile. “Stick with me, Doc, I'll teach you all my tricks.”

“Pretty sure I won't survive learning all your tricks,” Bruce said, and Clint flipped him off, even as he headed across the landing pad. Behind him, he could hear Bruce chuckling to himself.

Steve was cradling DJ in his arms, his body leaning backwards, his forehead braced against DJ's. He was smiling, his eyes full of laughter as DJ tugged at the neckline of his uniform. “Did you miss us?” he asked.

DJ grinned. “Yes,” he said. 

“Were you good for Agent Collins?”

“Yes,” DJ said. He leaned back, his arms swinging through the air. 

“Glad to hear it.” Steve looked up, and for an instant, his eyes locked with Tony's. They both stilled, Steve's jaw going tense, Tony's eyes going sharp. But to DJ, Steve said, “What do you want to do tonight?”

Before DJ could answer, Clint spoke up. “Hey, bratbot. Wanna come with me?”

Steve blinked at him, but DJ just let his head fall back. “No,” he said, making Clint grin. He wriggled out of Steve's grip, and bounced over to lean against Tony's armored legs.

“Hey, listen to my offer, kid.” Clint crouched down. “You could stay here,” he said. DJ nodded. “I mean, you could.” He leaned forward. “With your boring parental figures.” DJ nodded again, but slower this time, not as sure. “Oooooooooor,” Clint said, and DJ's eyes sharpened. “You could come with me and help me fix a badly damaged Super Nintendo I literally found in a trash pile in the Bronx. It's missing half of its pieces and I think someone dumped an orange soda into it circa 1997, but I bet you can get it running again.”

DJ stared at him, his mouth hanging open, just a little. Clint grinned down at him. “Well? What do you want to do? Booooooring parents?” He waved a hand at Tony and Steve. “Or fun times with Uncle Clint and obsolete technology?”

“Clint-” Steve started, and DJ looked back at him, his expression torn.

Clint fished in his vest pocket. “Okay, I'll sweeten the deal. Obsolete, highly damaged technology aaaaand-” He held out a granola bar. “A granola bar!” Clint stopped. Opened it and took a bite. “Half a granola bar,” he amended, holding out the rest of the bar to DJ. DJ looked at Tony, then back at the granola bar. Clint wiggled it in front of him, and the kid went for the bait. 

“What are you up to?” Tony asked, as DJ gnawed happily on the granola bar.

“Go take a shower,” Clint said, ruffling DJ's hair. DJ leaned into the touch, grinning. “Ready?”

“Clint-” Steve started, but DJ was already hopping towards the elevator.

Clint waited until he was out of earshot, then turned back towards Steve and Tony. “When we left two days ago,” he said with a pleasant smile, “I left half a pot of coffee in the machine. Jarvis turned it off, because Jarvis is a bro. But by now, it's congealed into about two inches of pitch black sludge. In exactly two hours, I will mix that with an equal amount of sugar, feed it to your kid, and then unleash him, like the deadly weapon that he is, on your lives.”

There was a long, still silence, and Clint gave them a broad grin. “So whatever the two of you have to work out? I'd suggest working it out in-” He made a show of looking at his watch. “One hour and fifty nine minutes.” He glanced back up. “Or less.”

Tony stared at him, his mouth hanging open. “Is that- Are you threatening us?”

Clint clapped him on the shoulder. “Fuck, yes.” He leaned in. “Is it working?”

“Yes,” Tony said, eyeing him warily.

“Do not give him coffee,” Steve said, his arms crossed over his chest.

“That, Cap, is entirely up to you.” Clint took a deep breath and plodded towards the elevator, where DJ was waiting. “One hour, fifty-six minutes and twelve seconds. Get your shit together, kids.”

*

“If you light that on fire, we're done here.”

DJ blinked at Clint, his little face drawn up in a curious expression. “What?”

Clint blinked back. “What, what?”

“Light WHAT on fire?”

Clint stared at him. “Anything,” he said at last. “Deej. I love you. I do. You are the best weird little kid, and I love you, but if you light anything on fire, we are no longer friends.”

DJ looked scandalized. Clint tried his hardest not to laugh, but he was damn tired. He might've giggled. He didn't care. “Choose. Friendship, or fire.”

DJ thought about that. For an insultingly long time. “Friend,” he said at last. It sounded resigned.

“Good choice. I know that was hard. Starks like fire. But I think you made the right choice.” Clint held out a hand. “Give me the torch.”

“Why does he have a torch?”

Phil sounded horrified. It took a lot to horrify Phil. Clint was kind of proud of himself. He took the torch from DJ and set it on the table next to the couch. “Because someone left me in charge, Phil. Someone looked at me, and said, yeah, that looks like an adult. That looks like someone who could be trusted with a child.”

“Well, you're currently lying face down on our couch, wearing your uniform and one boot, letting a brilliant, dangerous sort of child play with-” Phil passed through Clint's field of vision, the hem of his jacket flecked with pale dust, the mirror shine of his shoes dulled. He picked up the torch. “What appears to be a crème brullee torch.”

“Yep,” Clint said.

Phil looked down at him. “Why do we have a crème brullee torch?”

“Because now I have a reasonable income and access to restaurant supply stores,” Clint said. “And I like fire.”

“Fire!” DJ agreed, throwing his hands in the air.

“No,” Phil told him, but there was a smile on his face, a slight crease to his cheeks as he looked down at DJ. He set the torch back down and crouched down. “I hear you were very good while we were gone.”

“Phil gets reports,” Clint mumbled into the couch cushion.

“More like Agent Collins likes bragging about how amazing you are,” Phil said. DJ grinned up at him, and Phil ruffled his hair. “We missed you.”

“Your fault,” DJ pointed out.

Clint choked on a laugh. “Drag him, Deej.”

Phil gave him a look as he stood up. “Save the sass until after the debrief, Agent Barton.” Clint blew a loud raspberry. Phil's lips twitched, but he managed to keep a straight face. “Very mature.”

“Hey,” Clint said. “I may not be a functional adult, but I am a-” He paused. “Deej, cover your ears.” DJ obediently put his hands over his ears. “I am a fucking adult.”

“Maybe babysitting is not a good idea right now,” Phil said.

“And yet, I'm the best option we had!” Clint said. “What the-” He glanced at DJ, who was still sitting there, his hands over his ears. “Fuck has this place come to?” He mimed taking his hand away from his ears. “Thank you, DJ.”

DJ dropped his hands. “Bad words,” he said.

“You got nothing on me, small copper,” Clint told him. “Back to work. The clock is ticking to finish your project.”

Phil took a seat on the arm of the couch next to Clint's head. “Did you get it working?” he asked, loosening his tie.”

“Yes!” DJ said, reaching for a pair of pliers.

Phil looked at Clint, who shook his head and mouthed 'no' at him. “It plays VHS tapes now,” he explained.

Phil paused, his eyebrows arching. “It's a Super Nintendo.”

“Well, it was,” Clint said. “Parts of it still are. It's just a Super Nintendo that plays VHS tapes.”

Phil's eyes squeezed shut. “How-”

“There was a big box of trash,” Clint said, morose. “We Frankensteined the shit out it.”

“Bad word,” DJ said, gleeful about it.

“That one barely counts,” Clint said.

“It counts, do not say it in front of Steve, you will break his heart,” Phil said. “How do you know it plays VHS tapes? We don't have-”

“The VHS player that was in the box had a tape stuck in it,” Clint said. “When the parts got transplanted, the tape came with it.” He yawned. “That was a bad moment. That-” He winced. “There was a small heart attack on my part there when it started to play.”

Phil stared at him. “you didn't check what it was before-”

“I didn't think he'd manage to get a SUPER NINTENDO to play it,” Clint said. “Luckily, it was a Kidz Bop video.”

“That's lucky?” Phil asked.

“Compared to 'Debbie Does Anywhere?'” Clint shot back. “Yes. Pre-teens singing the hits of the nineties is a lucky result.”

DJ had lost interest in their discussion, and was now poking happily at the wiring of his latest creation. With one hand, he reached out and picked up an apple slice from the bowl that Clint had made up for him before collapsing on the couch. DJ nibbled on one edge, turning the slice between his fingers, peeling away thin threads of the peel.

When he'd eaten every fragment of the red peel, he held the bare chunk of apple out to Clint. Clint took it, and popped it in his mouth.

Phil watched this whole process, his lips parted just a fraction of an inch, his eyebrows drawn up. “Did you just- Don't eat that,” he said.

“What am I going to do?” Clint asked, taking another slice when DJ handed it over. “Throw it away? I don't know, maybe this is normal, I don't KNOW, maybe the peel is secretly the good part of the apple and I haven't noticed, the kid's smarter than me, but-”

Phil reached out, his hand settling gently on Clint's head, and Clint stopped talking. His eyes fell shut, and he just leaned against Phil's palm. “I know you're checking for a head injury,” he mumbled. “And I don't even care.”

“Oh, Clint,” Phil said. “I'm not looking for a head injury.” A beat. “I'm looking for head injuries. Plural.”

Clint reached up and batted his hand away. “You know what, you can-”

DJ held a de-peeled apple slice to Phil, who took it with an almost inaudible sigh. “Thank you. Come on, DJ, why don't we find you some real food?”

“Apples are real!” Clint said, inexplicably hurt by that. “I'm an adult! I sliced it and everything!”

“I'm surprised the apple was all you sliced,” Phil said. Clint tucked a hand under his pillow. Phil sighed. “How badly did you cut yourself?”

“Look, you barely notice it, my hands were already knocked to hell, and-”

“Right.” Phil pushed himself upright. “We'll... We'll handle that next.” He held up the apple slice in front of him, his head tipped to the side. With a slight sigh, he popped it into his mouth. Clint grinned. Phil pointed a finger in his direction. “Not a word.”

“Wasn't gonna say a thing,” Clint said. “I'm tired. Can't work up the proper levels of sass right now.” He pushed himself upright, inch by painful inch, and his shoulders and back and arms aching with the strain. But he pushed himself up, and Phil was there, a strong, steady hand tucked under his arm. “I got nothing.”

Phil smiled at him. “I'm sure you'll work it in later.” He got Clint steadied against his side, and looked down at DJ. “Want something to eat?”

DJ considered that, his eyes narrowed. Phil waited patiently, one eyebrow arched. “Yes,” DJ said at last. 

“I fed you,” Clint said, pointing a finger at him. “I want that clear. I gave you, like, juice and apple.”

“Good,” DJ agreed.

“Thank you,” Clint said. He rubbed a hand over his face. “I'm going to take that, because why the fuck not.” He stopped. “Dammit.”

“Yeah, it was a good run while it lasted,” Phil said. 

“Deej...”

“Don't care,” DJ said. He picked up his Frankenintendo, hugging it to his chest. “Ice cream?”

“No,” Phil told him, his mouth twitching.

“Sure,” Clint said, because yeah, why the fuck not.

“Clint-”

“Look pathetic, kid, it works for me.”

*

“Time's up,” Clint announced as he pushed the door of the workshop open. He pointed. “Destroy them.”

Laughing, DJ bounced past him, his bare feet scrambling on the floor. Steve, already halfway to the door, crouched down to catch DJ in mid-jump. “Tell me you didn't-”

“I didn't,” Clint said, wandering in after DJ. “You had another five minutes.”

“Also, we would've killed you,” Tony said.

“Also, that,” Clint agreed. He leaned against a workbench. “Also, he would've been sick and then I would've felt guilty about it.”

“Mostly that,” Steve said, brushing DJ's hair away from his forehead.

“Mostly that,” Clint agreed.

“Did you have a fun time?” Steve asked DJ, who nodded. Steve looked down at the hodgepodge of pieces that DJ had clamped against his chest. “What'd you make?”

“Holoprojector!” DJ said, holding it up over his head. 

Steve and Tony looked at Clint. Clint shook his head. “I... I got nothing,” he admitted. “I do not know. He's...” He gestured at DJ. “He's yours, you know what he can do.”

“Good job, kid,” Tony said, taking it out of his hands. He turned it over, one eyebrow arching, then reached out to ruffle DJ's hair. DJ grinned at him, his face scrunched up in pleasure. “I think we can mass market this...”

“No, Tony,” Steve said, his lips curling up in an affectionate smile.

“Killjoy.” Tony set it aside and glanced at Clint. “You're filthy.”

“Yeah, I was watching your kid instead of, you know, worrying about personal hygiene,” Clint said. His eyes narrowed. Tony was dressed in a fresh shirt and pants, his feet just as bare as DJ's. “You managed to clean up.” 

“We had time,” Tony said. He ran a hand through his hair, the damp locks tangling around his fingers. He slouched against a workbench, his hands braced on either side of his hips. 

Clint looked at Steve. He was very studiously avoiding Clint's eyes. “Do you want something to eat?” he asked DJ, his voice very overly bright.

“No,” DJ said.

“Phil fed him,” Clint said, suspicion growing. “Did you-”

DJ hugged Steve's neck. “Tired,” he announced. He wriggled out of Steve's arms and headed straight for Tony. “Charge now.”

Tony leaned over, swiping his thumb against DJ's cheek. “You're filthy,” he said. “Go wash up and we'll read a story, okay?”

DJ considered that. He looked up at Steve. Steve nodded. DJ heaved a very put upon sigh, and headed for the hall. “Hey,” Steve said. “Did you thank Clint for watching you?” DJ paused. Looked at Clint.

“Hint,” Clint said with a smile. “You did not.” 

“You should do that now,” Tony said, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Thank,” DJ said, and took off without a backwards glance. Steve watched him go, laughing softly. 

“That's great, we're making progress on the politeness front,” Tony grumbled, and Steve reached out, wrapping an arm around Tony's waist and dragging him in. Tony muttered something under his breath, and Steve laughed, his eyes bright and his cheeks flushed.

Clint stared at them. “You fucked,” he said, feeling unreasonably betrayed by that.

Steve choked, and Tony gave Clint a wide, shameless smile. “What are you talking about?” he asked. “We were here. Working out our differences in a reasonable-” He waved a hand through the air. “And adult manner.”

Clint gave him a look. Tony smirked back at him. Clint nodded. “Nice hickey, Steve.”

Steve's hand came up, clapping over the side of his neck. Tony pressed a hand to his face. “Steve. You don't have a hickey. You never-” His head rolled in Steve's direction. “You never have a hickey. Despite my best efforts, or maybe my worst efforts. You cannot be hickeyed.” 

“Pretty sure that's not a word,” Clint said.

“Pretty sure I'm not taking language lessons from you,” Tony said. Steve just scrunched his eyes shut, his hand still pinned to the side of his neck. Tony gave him a look, but there was a smile tugging at the corners of his lips, affection clear in his face. “Need a hand there, Cap?”

“No.” Steve stared straight ahead. His ears were pink, his jaw a hard line. “I'm good.”

Tony reached for his coffee cup. “Better than good,” he said, with a smirk. Steve gave him a look. Tony shrugged, unrepentant. “I'd know.”

“You-” Clint started, and Tony cut him off.

“Okay,” he said. “Look. Yes. We got in here, we locked the door, there was a lot of yelling, then some clothes got removed, there were some adult situations-”

“We talked it out once we'd worked off some frustration,” Steve said, cutting him off. 

“You used PILLOW TALK to handle this?” Clint asked. 

“No,” Steve said immediately. “We-”

“Yes,” Tony said. Steve turned to stare at him. Tony shrugged. “His pillow talk is very effective. It could solve all sorts of international problems. Providing the nations involved were willing to get into bed with him.” He paused. “Which, you know, they would be.” In the silence that followed that pronouncement, he gestured in Steve's direction. “I mean. Look at him.”

Steve's eyes squeezed shut. “Tony...”

Clint took a deep breath. “I,” he said, with as much dignity as he could manage, “hate you all.” He turned on his heel and headed for the door.

“Thanks for babysitting!” Tony called after him. Clint turned around, and walking backwards, flipped him off with both hands. Tony grinned at him. “Mature.”

“Haaaaaate you all,” Clint sang, and headed for the elevator. God, he needed a shower.


End file.
